The Rabbi's Story
by Vianne1961
Summary: **Previously listed as Miriam** What if Jesus was only a man? This story explores a more realistic interpretation of Christ's life, absent divine intervention. Designed for a secular audience - please, no furious reviews from those expecting otherwise. ** Rated M for explicit sexuality. Readers beware!
1. Chapter 1 - Miriam

Bait Lechem, 6 BCE

The blackness of night was just beginning to soften, blurring the stars and warming the horizon with a subtle violet glow. The encampment of Roman soldiers was still and quiet in the cleft between the two small hills, with only a few young sentries standing duty. Miriam ran hunched over, darting between the natural crags and outcroppings of the rocky hills, hiding behind low shrubs, her long, slender legs carrying her with the surety of a wild goat. And well they should; this was her land, and the wild earth lent power and agility to her limbs. It sensed her urgency, the heat coursing through her body, and lent her its power.

There! Where the rock pitched inward and was partially hidden by a fig tree. Miriam saw the tall, brawny figure, cloaked, the bits of metal on his uniform catching the moonlight as he shifted position. It was he!

As they had done on so many prior encounters, Miriam blended into the shadows with the ease of long practice. She used the toes of her bare foot to dislodge a few dusty pebbles. It was a subtle movement, but in the silence of the hours just before dawn, the soft scuffing noise carried. On cue, the cloaked male figure coughed once, waited a beat, and twice again. Like a melting shadow, Miriam flowed across the small space between them and into his arms.

"Titus!"

"You came," he whispered, pleased. His fingers pushed aside her wool headdress, weaving themselves deeply into the long, glossy black waves beneath. She gazed up into his face, a darkened plane haloed by tight, cropped curls. She whispered,

"Please hurry. I have little time."

She needed say no more. Titus enveloped her, pressing her tightly against the rocks and kissing her furiously. His hands roamed beneath her long _tunica_, yanking up the coarse fabric to grasp the flesh beneath, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, and the seat of warmth between them. He lifted her as if she were no bigger than a child and pushed himself into her. Miriam wrapped her long legs around him, finding his rhythm and matching it until their breath came in short, urgent gasps. Although she would have liked to prolong it, she knew she had to be quick; the women of the household would be stirring soon, once the birds began to sing their morning song, and she would be missed if she did not return swiftly. Worse still, an unattended woman traveling on the road in the wee hours of the morning was liable to be kidnapped and raped by travelers, perhaps even beaten and left for dead. Miriam risked their attentions if she did not move on soon. She sucked on two fingers and maneuvered them into the tight space between their bodies, teasing herself to a rapid finish, knowing her passionate response would propel Titus to climax ever sooner.

_Oh truth, oh blessed joy_ …

Miriam tipped her head back and moaned aloud as waves of bliss burst from her pelvis and traveled down every limb, loosening her muscles and leaving them weak. Titus clapped a hand over her mouth as her voice threatened to bounce off the canyon walls, but could contain himself no further. He tensed silently, head bowed into her shoulder, and beneath her fingers she felt gooseflesh spring to life upon his shoulders. They slumped against the rock, exhausted.

"I must go," Miriam whispered after a few moments.

"So soon? No, stay."

"I cannot. You know I will be missed." Miriam smiled, running her fingers again through his tight, sandy-colored curls. They were becoming brighter as the morning light softened and anticipated the dawn. He kissed her forehead, a tender gesture that tore at her heart and made her dream wildly of running away with him. But deserters of the Imperial Army were crucified, and she would certainly be stoned if discovered.

"We will be traveling deeper into Galilee," Titus whispered, "I may not see you again for some time."

"Send word if you can. I may be able to find an excuse to shop in a large city, if I know where you are."

They whispered promises and vows to one another until Miriam could delay no longer. Kissing Titus one last furious time, she dashed away into the desert, her thighs wet and slippery.

But Shoshana, Miriam's companion and accomplice in their crimes of lust, was not waiting behind the rocky outcropping by the goat trail that would take them back to Bait Lechem. Panting, Miriam glanced around, knowing she herself was late enough. Where _was_ that girl?

Miriam was nearly ready to begin running back to the village alone when the quiet patter of feet caught her attention. She huddled closer to the rock, drawing her headdress closer over her face so that only a single eye cast a gaze out at the road. The lumpy folds of her friend's cloak, banded at the bottom with a single, wide border of color after the Hebrew style, were instantly recognizable.

"Forgive me," Shoshana hissed as she grabbed Miriam's arm, flopping beside her in a heap. The girl's wide brown eyes were bright, even in the darkness, and her round face exuded warmth and moisture from the heat of interrupted passion. She giggled, "Publius was full of vigor this morning."

Miriam took her arm and began dragging her down the road.

"If we are caught, it will be the death of us," she snapped at her inordinately cheerful companion. "It is nearly dawn! You know we cannot take such chances!"

Shoshana's mischievous countenance fell, and she looked stricken.

"Of course … I only became carried away … Publius told me the most thrilling stories of the cities they have conquered. Do you know that some people believe that their gods copulate with women, and produce demigods with incredible powers? Some become conquerors, others sorcerers."

Miriam ignored the nonsense and strode ahead, propelled by the strength of her long brown legs, eyes firmly fastened in the distance. Such stories were absurd, and she was too irritated to say so. Obviously there was only one deity. Everyone knew that. Even so, she knew her irritability was spurred mostly from the exhaustion tugging at her body. But there would be no time to rest. They would have to immediately rise with the rest of the household and begin preparing for the day, as if nothing were amiss. Beside her Shoshana huffed and heaved, trying to keep up.

"Miriam…." she gasped, "was it worth it?"

Miriam could not help feeling a tickle at the corner of her mouth. She shot a wicked glance at her rotund companion.

"Of course."

"You see! Your Titus is quite a stallion. He is worth a beating or two."

Titus Gallerius Rullus, the Roman whose strange, exotic name she had committed to memory. Miriam shut her eyes for an instant, reliving the sensation of the Roman's powerful shoulders under her hands, his firm buttocks beneath her ankles, his breathy groan in her ear …

"We would not be beaten," she corrected Shoshana suddenly. "We are both betrothed. If we were caught gallivanting with Roman troops, we would be stoned alive!"

She did not need to look to feel Shoshana pale beside her. Without a word, they broke into a run, flying across the countryside before the dawn brought their ruin.

Fortune was with Miriam, this time at least. Her mother, aunts, and sisters did not seem to notice her slow movements and subdued behavior. Still, Miriam doubled her efforts, striving to carry twice the water, make the morning meal twice as savory. Her mother's sister smiled as she saw her mincing the herbs with excruciating care.

"Such attention to detail, little Miriam. You will make Yusuf a happy husband."

"If the Almighty wishes it," Miriam replied, lowering her eyes modestly. Her aunt nodded and patted her shoulder as she passed. Yusuf was the homely stone mason her father had chosen for her, a rather dull man who was already losing his hair at the age of thirty years. Miriam had always believed she could snare a better husband – although she was lean and smooth-chested as a boy, her face was radiant, and her long hair thick and lustrous, the envy of many. But Yusuf's family had always enjoyed a good rapport with her father, and the rumor was that Yusuf's fledgling masonry business had all the makings to be a great success, thus securing financial security for her parents and the family she might give her husband. Besides, Miriam's bold, conniving nature was cited as a drawback to her marital eligibility, proof that she was unlikely to find a better catch. When she reached her thirteenth year, the engagement was announced. Now only a few months remained until the nuptials were formalized. _Only a few more visits with Titus_, she thought grimly through her haze of exhaustion. She would have to end the affair soon, and begin watching for a pig bladder to snip and stitch into some semblance of a false maidenhood. The thought dampened her spirits considerably.

It was not until after the morning meal that Miriam heard her aunts and sisters whispering around the fire, their covered heads bobbing with some morsel of delicious gossip. Since she would normally be in the center of such proceedings, voicing her judgment along with everyone else, she made an effort to at least hover at the edge of the gathering as if interested. In truth, her body ached with dizzying weariness, and it was not even midday! She could not care less what nonsense they had discovered.

"But can it be?" her sister exclaimed. "Little Shoshana, that homely little creature?"

"There is not much that is little about her," someone else laughed. "Those breasts must each be the size of a newborn calf! And that backside. Monstrous!"

"Well, someone must have found a way past it. She has not visited the women's lounge in two months."

Miriam felt her blood turn cold. It had not occurred to her to caution her friend to keep up every appearance of normality, including the monthly visit to the women's lounge to rest and "menstruate" without the danger of polluting the men. There were herbs to prevent the unwanted burden of child, and still more herbs to rid one's self of one if need be. Although it was never spoken aloud, the secret was covertly traded among women who knew, and it was a simple enough matter to complete. Could Shoshana have been so foolish? Miriam's heart sank as she realized that her companion could have, indeed. Dear Shoshana! What would become of her?

Miriam did not need to wait long to find out.

Nightfall came with alarming swiftness. If a grievance was to be addressed, it would occur at sundown, and in anticipation of this Miriam complained of a headache and slept through the heat of midday. When at last there was a predictable flurry of excitement among the women, she was ready.

"Get up, little sister!" The shrill voice was one of many. "We must go to the temple. Shoshana is accused of prostitution!"

Prostitution, indeed. As Miriam pulled on her veil and sandals, a cold knot was already well formed in her belly. Legally, there was no differentiation between women who sold their bodies for currency and those who cavorted with men they were not married to. Both actions were illegal. Both had but one punishment.

A crowd had gathered in the courtyard before the temple. As the sun dipped behind it, its pillars cast long, ominous shadows across the tiles. The priests, looking like a flock of hens as they fluttered about in their white robes at the far end of the yard, snapped at one another with tense voices. The men were gathered closest to them to watch the proceedings, the women and children behind. Miriam, grateful for once for her boyish figure, slipped between her sisters and came close to where the men hovered. She clutched her cloak tightly. Her palms were moist with anxiety.

"Silence!"

The priest bellowed the command above the din. The Hebrews quieted.

"We have a sinner in our midst," the priest announced, his bushy brows fusing over his angry eyes. "A woman has shamed her father's house with the licentious behavior of a whore."

A delighted murmur went through the crowd. For once, Miriam found herself hating her people's love of gossip. Fools! How could they speak thus?

And then Shoshana was brought forward. Her veil had been torn from her head to shame her, and her dirty locks were in disarray around her shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping, but still widened in terror. She was flung to the ground before the priests.

"It has been determined that you have not bled in twice the time you should have," one of them bellowed. "Your behavior has been secretive and you have been observed to be disobedient and recalcitrant. You are accused of prostitution and all manner of immorality. Are you with child?"

Shoshana heaved miserably into her plump hands and did not answer. They struck her and showered her with abuse, and still she remained silent.

Miriam felt her breath caught in her chest. She was torn between heartache for her friend, and fear that Shoshana might point her out as an accomplice. She did not know which was worse. It was true that it was she, Miriam, who first instigated their forbidden romances with Roman men. Miriam met Titus during a venture into the city on a day that their garden yielded only sparse wares. Titus was tall and powerful, with the sharp jaw and aquiline profile that so many of the Romans had, and had the bronzed countenance of a god. In the jostling of the crowd Miriam had dropped the sack of vegetables she had come for. Furious and cursing, trying to snatch the precious food before the feet of humans and animals alike could trample her family's supper, Miriam had been stunned when one of the wandering Roman soldiers bent down to help her retrieve them. His smile had been wide and encouraging, the unruly curls radiating from beneath his helmet charming and friendly. When he first introduced himself, she could barely make out the string of exotic syllables - _Titus Gallerius Rullus_. But please, he told her, call me Titus.

_Titus_. Where was he now? Where was his companion, Publius, who fathered the child Shoshana now carried? Did he know his lover was in terrible danger? What if Shoshana revealed the secret of Miriam's relationship with Titus? Could Miriam save either of them without endangering them both?

But the trial was already coming to a close. An elderly woman of the tribe had already examined Shoshana in the presence of her female relatives, and found her no longer a maiden. It did not matter what Shoshana said, or did not say, in her own defense. It was over.

"This woman is guilty of the mortal sin of prostitution. Let her be stoned."

Shoshana wailed, and Miriam felt her heart stop. No! It could not be! Miriam's uncle stood just a few steps away, and Miriam rudely shoved her way toward him.

"Uncle Avram," she pleaded, gripping his elbow, "please, they must have mercy!"

Her uncle regarded her with burning eyes.

"Be silent, Miriam! This matter does not concern you!"

"But she is only a girl!"

"She is thirteen, the same age as you, and certainly old enough to know better. That _whore_ brought this entirely upon herself, and she is fortunate that stoning is all she receives! Now be silent!"

Miriam obeyed, both in shock at his volatile response and out of fear of attracting attention to herself. Shoshana was extracted from the pavement and dragged, screaming, away from the temple. The crowd followed, shouting curses and insults. _Heathen. Wretch. Whore._ The words sent shivers down her spine. Shoshana was cast into the dirt outside the temple. The first rock struck her squarely upon the jaw, and she gasped. Then another came, and another.

Miriam hung behind the throng of people, overwhelmed. She did not dare approach. Shoshana's cries rang out through the night for what seemed like hours. At last they quieted.

The deed was done.

After any such trial and execution, a zealous frenzy would often fall upon the town for some time thereafter. Women were watched closely for any signs of misbehavior and encouraged to remain confined to their homes. Only men went about during the day. Herbs were also controlled closely, particularly those that the religious leaders thought might allow a woman to end a pregnancy.

For several days Miriam felt her innards contort and grip as if the matter of women was approaching. But it was too soon! How could this be? Her fears were confirmed one morning upon awakening, when a single spot of blood marred the fabric of her robe, and no more. The days passed, and still, nothing further came.

It could not be.

But it must.

She was also with child.

At the proper time, Miriam filled a pig bladder with the blood of the beast, notched it ever so slightly, and settled it within her before retreating to the tent where women went each month to live out their fourteen days of misery – seven to survive the time of bleeding, seven more to become purified. No one noticed that her flow was lighter and shorter than usual. She remained curled in a ball, sipping herbal teas to calm her stomach. Normally such a tea soothed the terrible cramping of a woman's menstrual time; for Miriam, it helped the strange, unsettled feeling within her, something not quite nauseated, not quite dizzy, but not quite normal, either.

Her thoughts of Shoshana had passed, leaving only a dull grief that stuck to her soul like the mud on the feet following a great rain. For once, Miriam was grateful for the women's lounge; it was a darkened, quiet place, full of shadows and the musky scent of blood and carelessly bathed bodies. She took her time within it to remain alone, dispassionately studying the new sensations rocking her body as she plotted exactly what might be done about them.

She had few options. She could attempt to find the herbs that might flush an unexpected life from her womb. A few days of wretched illness, and it would be done. Miriam dismissed that notion with the excuse that such herbs would be impossible to find for many months after a scandal such as that of Shoshana's, but somewhere inside she knew the truth, even if she could not admit it yet: despite all her scheming, she already felt a connection to the tiny blossom within her. It was hers and hers alone, borne of wild nights with that divine Roman and his sculpted shoulders and powerful thighs. Any child created with his beauty and her cunning was destined to be great. Even as the conviction gripped her, she knew it to be silly and maternal, the sort of romantic nonsense every woman conjured for her offspring – but it was real and powerful, nonetheless.

Could she escape? Could she run from her little village and find Titus, forge some sort of life with him? She was not certain if she loved him, but she knew she craved his presence and his passion, and a life with him would not be objectionable. True, she was a despised Hebrew, but she might be able to pass as some other sort of exotic foreigner, a Persian perhaps. Perhaps she could leave behind the life of Miriam, the poverty-stricken Jewess with dirty bare feet, and become a noblewoman. She imagined herself beside Titus, a great lady, swathed in expensive fabrics and costly jewels, perhaps ordering around servants and speaking exotic tongues. She might cook incredible meals for him – no, wealthy women did not cook. She would hire someone to cook incredible meals. She herself would spend her days eating dates and choosing expensive décor for their home. What were the wives of Romans called? As the wife of Titus Gallerius Rullus, would she be styled as Lady Rullus? She was uncertain how their marital titles were arranged.

If she did not end the pregnancy or run off and marry Titus, her only other choice was to expedite her marriage to Yusuf and hope he would accept the child as his. How "premature" could she possibly claim the child was? Could she be discovered and executed for her impiety? _Ai_, the problems that presented themselves to women who enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh!

At the end of her fourteen days, Miriam stepped from the women's lounge in the wee hours of the morning and excused herself to bathe, as she always did. She would not be noticed for a few hours, at least. Perhaps she could make that time count.

The city was already bustling as the sun crested over the horizon. Miriam flew through the streets, ducking between vendors who were setting up their wares for the day and hopping over dogs and small children. Every Roman in uniform caught her eye, but each time he turned, it was someone other than her Titus. The sun was beginning to rise in the sky – she would be missed soon! Where was he? Where was anyone who might know him? Miriam was beginning to panic when at last she spotted a face she knew. It was Publius, the former lover of Shoshana. She pushed and shoved her way through the growing crowd toward him, cursing as he wandered in and out of her field of view. Where was he going, by the gods? Why did he not pause for just a moment? At last she stretched her long fingers through the throng of people and grabbed his elbow.

"Publius!"

The man swung his girth around in surprise. His hand was already at his side, reaching for a blade. When he recognized her, his face cracked into a hidden grin.

"_Salve_, stranger," he greeted her, keeping his voice low so as not to be seen socializing with a Jewess. Miriam pulled her shawl closer over her face.

"I seek Titus Rullus. Have you seen him?"

"Not for several days. He is on holiday." He gave her a mischievous wink. "Pray tell, where is that shapely companion of yours?"

Miriam felt her heart constrict.

"That is part of why I am here," she responded. "Shoshana was discovered. They executed her."

Publius went pale, his eyes flying open as he sputtered,

"Executed her! Why – what – what nonsense is this? Why?"

"It is our custom. An unmarried woman who has a liaison with a man is guilty of prostitution, no different than a woman who receives currency for her services."

"I did not know." Publius looked stricken and puzzled all at once. Miriam gripped his hand tightly.

"I must find Titus. Where may I reach him?"

"I may be able to get a message to him. Perhaps you might meet him a few days from now."

"I cannot," Miriam insisted. "This is the last time I can escape."

He frowned.

"Have you been discovered as well?"

"I am at great risk," she replied, and explained no further.

Publius could not step away from his post, but he sent a young boy to direct her to the home of Titus. Miriam struggled to keep up as she followed the agile youth through the busy streets. Her heart pounded - the shadowy darkness of night was already giving way to a sunny morning, and she would be missed very soon. The scents of the marketplace disturbed her, and more than once she had to fight to keep from retching into one of the alleyways, especially as they passed mangy, stinking animals and puddles of human filth. The streets were very narrow and poorly paved, forcing her to dart and jump as they walked, her stomach quaking with every step. By the stars, when would this terrible nausea subside? And where did this wretched Roman of hers live, anyway?

At last the boy showed her into a shady courtyard where a baker plied his trade.

"There," the boy said, pointing to a doorway above the bakery. "He lives in the _insula_ there."

Miriam was surprised that Titus lived in such humble surroundings. Of course, even this modest home was better than her own! The _insula_ was a living space on the second story of the building; the bottom was dedicated to cooking, and apparently the top floor was rented out. Now that she considered it, she _did_ remember Titus occasionally coming to her with a warm, earthy scent to his clothing. It was bread! Somehow the thought pleased her. The scent of cakes and pastries wafted to her nose, calming her churning innards, and for a moment she felt at ease.

"Bring him, please," she said in her most crisp Latin, trying desperately to disguise her accent. It would not do to spread rumors of Hebrew women hanging around the house of a respectable Roman soldier. The boy fled up a staircase, emerging upon the balcony over the bakery and knocking gingerly upon the door. Miriam watched in rapt attention, heart shuddering in her chest. She would see Titus soon.

A woman opened the door.

Miriam went rigid. The woman was young and lovely, wearing a toga and long, dark _stola_ in the fashion of Roman women. Who was she? Did bachelor soldiers not live alone? Was Titus not a bachelor? A small child appeared beside the woman, calling her _mater _and grabbing at her skirts for attention. Perhaps she was only a neighbor, or a friend. But then there he was, her Titus, unshaven and grinning from ear to ear. He swept the child up in his arms and kissed the woman on the cheek before turning his attention to their visitor. By the time the boy turned to indicate the robed woman down in the _atrium_, the courtyard was empty.

"She was there a moment ago," the boy stuttered, looking over the balcony to see if the mysterious visitor had gone to sample the baker's wares. "I swear it!"

"Some woman of ill repute no doubt seeking her wages," the woman snorted. "No doubt my brother cheated her of a few coins!"

"Lies, all lies," Titus laughed. "If she shows her face again, send her up straight away, and my sister will see I am perfectly honorable!"

By the time the boy nodded and disappeared, apologizing for his intrusion, Miriam was already half way home.

It was a simple enough matter for Miriam to convince her family to begin preparations for the nuptials sooner rather than later. After all, the _kidushin_ period was just as binding as the actual marriage itself; she and Yusuf were technically already husband and wife in every sense but the conjugal one. It was the perfect time for a wedding. After all, the thrill of Shoshana's scandal had grown stale, and the village was ready for a pleasant distraction. A wedding would, therefore, be ideal.

No one was ready for what actually occurred.

"Be still, Miriam. I swear it would be easier to tailor this garment to the dimensions of a sapling tree than to try and measure it with you squirming! Nahal, make your daughter behave."

Livnat, the mother of Yusuf, knelt beside Miriam as she helped the women of the bride's family prepare her bridal garments. Nahal gave her daughter an impish wink.

"Be obedient, child. You will only wear this garment once."

"She will never wear it if she does not stop moving!"

Miriam tried to keep her expression blank, but the truth was that the bright color of the fabric was making her ill. Everything made her ill these days; colors, scents, even noises. Everything made her want to vomit. The simple act of restraining herself from doing so was already causing her to break into a miserable, overheated sweat. She wanted to fling herself outdoors and surrender the contents of her stomach, and then perhaps sleep for a few days.

"By the stars, Miriam," Livnat exclaimed when she noticed, "are you well?"

"She is only excited at the prospect of the wedding," Nahal cooed, giving her an indulgent pat on the shoulder. "See how she glows!"

"Oh, she certainly glows," Livnat replied slowly. The woman rose before her, hands on her hips. She was as formidable and square as Miriam was slender and petite, and towered over her prospective daughter-in-law with eyes glinting with suspicion. Miriam's heart skipped a beat as she realized what Livnat's suspicions were. How could she possibly know? Surely not. For a few moments Miriam held Livnat's gaze steadily, feigning puzzled innocence. No one could know. She had faithfully pretended every sign of _not_ being pregnant. Livnat was only a distrusting heifer.

As if on cue, Miriam's stomach at last overcame her. She vomited squarely onto Livnat's broad bosom.

Immediately the house was bustling with noise – laughter, shouting, gasps of shock and surprise. Livnat roared her exasperation and slapped Miriam across the face. Miriam collapsed on the dirt floor, clawing at it as her entire body tightened into one seismic retch. She could not stop. Somewhere her mother was squawking with concern, calling for a wet cloth. Livnat barked orders at the others as if she were the lady of the house, not Nahal.

At last the shuddering sickness subsided. Miriam closed her eyes in misery, struggling against both the exhaustion and the knowledge of what was to come. Nahal clucked and fussed, seeing to it that the ground was removed of any offending particles and swept smooth again. Livnat had already changed her robes and now sported one belonging to Nahal herself. No one bothered to ask if Miriam was with child; the answer would come swiftly enough.

"Now we will know the truth," Livnat declared. Nahal faded into the background somewhere, unwilling to shield her daughter from shame, but unwilling to assess the situation herself. Never matter; Livnat was an aggressive old sow and pushed her way through the throng of women with a determined glare in her black eyes. No promiscuous whore would be married to _her_ son, that much was certain!

Miriam was pulled to her feet. The hands of her aunts and sisters held her steady as much to keep her from running as falling. She was not certain she could do either.

_No_, Miriam thought, feeling helpless for the first time. _No, no! _Images of Shoshana's face during the execution filled her mind. _Could it be over?_

Livnat's intrusion between Miriam's thighs was brisk and unsympathetic, probing cruelly at the tender flesh within her, searching vainly for the delicate barrier of her maidenhead. When she found none, her smug eyes filled with vengeful satisfaction. She slapped Miriam again.

"_Whore_," she pronounced.

The response was immediate. Nahal screamed, tearing at her hair and clothing as she crumbled to the floor. Miriam's sisters and aunts shouted their horror. Something broke somewhere. Miriam touched her hand to her face, the stinging of Livnat's hand still upon it, and felt herself go curiously numb. _This blow against my flesh is nothing_, she thought dismally. _Soon I will feel the crush of stone upon my brow_.

The house took up the cry of _whore, whore_ with the rage of a mob. Everyone seemed to be yelling and crying all at once. Miriam stared at the floor. She was unable to move; despair bolted her feet to the earth. They refused to move until at last she felt herself shoved, grabbed, practically carried from the women's quarters out of the house into the sunlight. They were not even going to wait until sundown! Someone grabbed her veil and yanked it from her head, uncovering her hair to shame her, baring the glossy waves for all to see; only whores went with exposed hair, after all. She stumbled and tripped as the women dragged her out of the courtyard and onto the dirt road. In a daze, Miriam stared at the passing villagers, the dusty wild bushes and trees, the startled goats. Every leaf and stone seemed suddenly precious. Above her the searing heat bore down with the ferocity of midday, but for once she did not grumble; it would be the last she ever felt it.

The temple loomed ahead of them. Nahal wailed somewhere from the back of the mob,

"My daughter! Oh, my daughter! Please, _Elohim_ Most High, oh my daughter …"

Passers-by caught the chant of _whore, whore_ and began to follow, excited and interested as they tried to identify the face below the uncovered black tresses. Miriam stubbed her toes again and again, but did not make a sound of protest.

The priests would soon be roused from their midday prayers to attend to the trial of Miriam, daughter of Yakov, who was charged with licentious immorality. Miriam was dragged out of the molten sunlight into a private room of the temple and flung to the floor. This privacy was designed to allow the female elders to examine her and verify Livnat's claims before bothering the priests with the accusation. Several of the female elders were already gathered, brows furrowed as they waited to hear the charges against the young woman. Nahal was crumbled in a corner somewhere, wailing; Livnat marched forward with the seriousness of her mission emblazed across her face.

"This wretch is with child," she spat. "She was to marry my son, Yusuf, until we discovered evidence of her immorality. I demand retribution! She has shamed my family and her own."

"Who is the father?"

The voice belonged to the smallest elder, a frail little creature swathed in robes and clutching a polished staff for balance. The room suddenly fell silent.

"Has anyone asked her if it is that of her intended? If so, there is no crime."

All eyes turned to Livnat, whose face revealed her irritation that she had not thought to ask the obvious question. Miriam felt a tiny surge of smug satisfaction; Livnat might have caught her, but at least that broiled sow made a fool of herself in the process!

"My son is an honorable man," she snapped. "He would not dishonor a bride during the _kidushin_."

Now the eyes swung to Miriam. Their glares were alight with that zeal reserved only for crowds electrified by righteous anger. Livnat kicked at Miriam's ankles.

"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"

Miriam's mind raced. Perhaps if she said the child was of Yusuf, they might be distracted long enough for her to run. In admitting her expectant state, Miriam would implicitly concur with the accusations, and they would remove her from the private room since there would no longer be any reason to examine her. She might be able to escape. It was a mad idea, but it was worth a try.

"It is my lord's."

Yusuf was summoned. As she had hoped, Miriam was taken from the private room and brought out into the courtyard to wait. The village had gathered despite the midday heat, panting and fanning themselves, but eager to hear the news so urgent that brought them to the temple before the sun fell. Perhaps she could scale it and fling herself to freedom. Her mother was left in the private sanctuary to grieve, and her sisters faded into the throng to wait alongside the other interested women. Her father, Yakov, stood by with his brow knitted above eyes filled with rage. Miriam spotted a gnarled tree that surged over the wall of the temple courtyard.

But as if anticipating her whim, Livnat gripped Miriam's elbow with the power of a scorned lioness. The other female elders were gathered around her as well. Although she could not so much as twitch without Livnat digging her nails into her, Miriam was almost ready to lose her arm to escape, if need be.

Flies swarmed overhead and children played in the dirt as they waited. Yusuf was, no doubt, hiding in his workshop, chipping rock or doing whatever nonsense stone masons used their time for. Miriam's mind raced furiously as she contemplated her dwindling options. Could she strike Livnat? Kick her? Even if she slipped from the woman's grasp, she would have to fly over the heads of her neighbors to get to the tree. The very thought of such rough movement made Miriam swoon with weakness and nausea.

It was impossible. Miriam was trapped.

For a few despairing moments she watched the children tossing rocks at each other, giggling and squatting to retrieve them. She would never see her own child play thus. She would never hold her little one in her arms. The thought was nearly overwhelming. She hoped the infant, still deep within her, would not feel pain as its mother died.

A subtle murmur fluttered through the crowd. Brown faces began to strain, gazing back toward the entrance to the courtyard. Yusuf appeared, his face mystified and wary as he approached the clergy. When he saw his intended in the grip of his mother, his eyes flew open in surprise. Apparently he had not yet been told.

"I was called, my lords," Yusuf announced, prostrating himself before the holy men.

"Rise," the high priest ordered. "Do you recognize this woman?"

They pointed.

"Yes," Yusuf replied slowly. "That is my wife."

"You are yet in the time of _kidushin_, are you not?"

"We are. The formal nuptials are soon approaching."

"Is the marriage consummated?"

Shock crossed Yusuf's face, followed by swift comprehension. Standing tousled and unveiled, it was rather obvious that some sort of shameful accusation had been brought against Miriam. Now he understood. He lowered his head for a few moments. Grief was scrawled across his features, features that suddenly looked more rugged and strong than Miriam remembered. His forearms, too, were powerful, with white dust clinging faintly to the dark hair covering them. She thought of all the times she had ignored him, disdained his rocky features, mocked his awkward attempts at conversation. So often she had thought him dull, uninspired, passionless. Could she have been wrong? Could she have been wasting her time with Titus, the fiery Roman god who casually neglected to mention the wife and child he had at home? Now the god had left her pregnant, and the common man who wanted to build a home with her stood before her, scorned. Her soul felt raw. What a fool she had been!

The courtyard nearly cracked from the silence. Every pair of eyes rested on Yusuf's back. No one moved, nor even breathed. At last Yusuf spoke. His voice was soft, just above a whisper, and every ear strained to hear it.

"Is she … with child?"

"Answer the question!" The high priest did not appreciate the delay. "Have you touched this woman?"

Yusuf was a good man, a moral man. He was not mean spirited. But he was honest, even if the life of his intended hung in the balance. Miriam swung between hope that he might take pity on her and absolute certainty that he would not.

At last Yusuf spoke, and although his voice cracked, he spoke loud enough for all to hear.

"I have not known her."

Livnat laughed. The crowd roared, screaming for the blood of the offender. Miriam felt her breath heave in her chest. Irrationally, she thought of happier times, of stealing home with Shoshana after their rendezvous with their Roman lovers. She recalled the remarks that Shoshana made as they returned from their last illicit liaison: _Do you know that some people believe that their gods copulate with women, and produce demigods with incredible powers? _So much for her Roman god! She was condemned by a mere mortal.

_A god …_

The high priest was speaking, pronouncing the words of her condemnation, sentencing her to execution. No sooner had the idea sparked in her mind than it was already upon her lips.

"Wait!"

The priests glared at the interruption.

"Wait," she gasped again. "I have not been permitted to speak."

"What could she possibly say?" Livnat bellowed. "She is a whore! She already lied about the child's paternity! She bears false witness and cannot be trusted."

"I am with child," Miriam agreed, "but it is not of Yusuf. I said it was of my lord, and I did not lie!" Her lips trembled as she launched into the greatest gamble she had ever taken. "I bear the child of the Most High."

A shudder went through the crowd. The priests gawked. This was a horrific claim. No one had ever heard of such! A woman impregnated by _Elohim_, the god of the deserts and the winds? How could this be?

"What is this heresy, woman?" They thundered. "How dare you speak thus!"

"It is true!" Miriam jerked away from Livnat and raised her palms to the skies. Already the story was forming on its own, springing from her tongue with the conviction of one possessed, driven by the intensity of her desperation. "I was visited by a divine being of light, an angel of the Most High. He came to me alone and said to me, Miriam, daughter of Yakov, behold, you will conceive and bear a son, and you will call his name Yehoshua."

The crowd hushed to a deathly silence. Miriam faced them, filling her face with pious hope.

"I said to him, how can this be? I have never been with a man. He told me that nothing is impossible with God, and that the Spirit of the Most High would come upon me."

Miriam faced the priests again. She fell to her knees, the very image of chaste servitude.

"And so I said to him, I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be as you have said." She bowed and pressed her head to the tiles. "If I have offended my lord with my obedience, I will gladly give my life. But I beseech you, have mercy upon me, my masters!"

She remained with her forehead pressed against the smooth, cold stone, trembling, hoping urgently that she would not be tortured for her heresy before they stoned her alive. No one moved. At last the high priest spoke.

"We call for a recess," he announced carefully. "We will call upon the Most High for a sign to confirm this … account. You will remain here until our task is made clear."

For three days Miriam remained huddled on the floor of the private sanctuary in which she had been imprisoned. She wept occasionally, and vomited more. When she was not busy doing one or the other, she explored her prison, searching for an escape. It was solid stone with only the tiniest window. The entrance was bolted shut. There was no escape.

Miriam waited.

She had gambled with her life. It was pure, unadulterated madness that had caused her to make the wild claim that she did. Perhaps she had been inspired by her memories of Shoshana, who had once stood in the same place as she, facing the same sentence as she. Surely the stories that Publius told her friend were once inspired by a similar case of a woman facing terrible punishment for a bit of mischief. What better way to grasp innocence in the face of certain punishment than to invoke the influence of the gods? It was odd indeed that the Most High had not struck her dead for her sacrilege, but she did not question the matter. Perhaps he had mercy on her. Or perhaps he did not exist. It did not matter. She was alive, at least for the moment.

On the third day the door was unbolted and she was invited forward. Two priests stood before her. Behind them was her father, and beside him, Yusuf.

"You have been redeemed, woman," the priest huffed. "Your betrothed has come forward with a sign."

"What?" Dazzled by the sunlight, Miriam could only stare. Yusuf stepped forward.

"I was visited in a dream by the angel who spoke to you," he explained. "The angel told me all was as you said it was. He said … he said not to fear taking you as my wife."

Inexplicably, Miriam felt hot tears pricking behind her eyelids. She could not speak. Yusuf gazed at her, his deep brown eyes full of warmth and compassion. Whether the tale was true or not, he _wanted_ her.

"Miriam," he said softly, taking her hand, "come with me and be my wife. We will build a home together, and your son will be mine. I want to spend my life beside you."

Choked with tears, Miriam could only nod.


	2. Chapter 2 - Yochanan

Judea, 25 C.E.

_Yochanan_

_In his dream, Yochanan the son of Zechariah saw a young man come to him full of anger and pain. On a barren, windswept plain not entirely unlike the one Yochanan frequented in the waking world, under a sky slashed with lightening and brooding clouds as full and feathery as the wings of a dove, the man with the wild, curling black hair came to him. In his hands he carried a stone. He held it close to himself, cradling it tenderly, weeping._

_ Brother, Yochanan addressed him, what ails thee?_

I am betrayed, _the man cried_. I am lost.

_ Give me thy pain, Yochanan urged him as he reached for the rock. _

I cannot. It is too deep within me.

_ Give me thy anger. It serves only to ruin you._

I cannot. All I have known has proven false. Those in whom I trusted are naught but liars.

_ Cast this hurt away. I will cleanse thee, and thou shalt be free._

_ Weeping bitterly, the man with the black curls extended his hands – slowly, like a child presenting a wounded pet to his mother to be nursed back to health. As Yochanan reached for it, prying the man's fingers from it, the stone became a ball of light. It shone with the power of a thousand fires, blinding both of them. When Yochanan wrenched it away, the man doubled over, his face crumpled with rage and hurt. Yochanan knew he must destroy the ball of light, for it represented the man's weakness, his anger and impurity, his sin. Concentrating deeply, he crushed the light in his hands, and it transformed into twelve doves. The doves flew into the air, fluttering in all directions. He knew then that the pain was healed. As the doves disappeared into the sky, the brooding storm dissipated; the darkness softened, the sun broke through, and a gentle, cleansing rain began to fall. Wildflowers, brilliant in their many colors, sprang wherever the rain touched, and in moments the cracked, ragged desert was transformed into a riot of joyous life that spread all around them for many miles. _

_ Arise, my brother, _he told the man_. For today you are purified with fire and water. Your spirit is purified and made holy, and with this new, holy spirit, you will change the world. _

Yochanan lived in the desert of Perea, a place that existed between the natural world and the spiritual. It was here that he communed with the Most High, fasting and praying, living on roots and shrubs and the voice of God. He experienced many visions and battled many demons, sometimes raging at them aloud in the blackness of night, witnessed only by the snakes and scorpions. Hunger sharpened his vision and hearing, made him richly in tune with the ebb and tide of the warfare being waged every moment of every day between the cosmic forces of good and evil. Repentant sinners came to him for insight and purification, and he dunked them in the waters of the River Jordan to cleanse them of their transgressions and make them holy again in the eyes of _Adonai Eloheinu, _the lord, their god.

At dawn one morning, after Yochanan had spent the night talking with the Most High, the man with the wild, black curls appeared on the horizon. He was, at first, only a speck. But the Almighty explained to Yochanan that this was _him_, the sinner he would purify, the prophet he would anoint and make even greater than himself. When the man reached him, at last, Yochanan was on his feet, waiting.

"Greetings, master," the man announced, "I am Yehoshua ben Yusuf. I pray you will cleanse me."

He was not weeping as in Yochanan's vision. He stood tall and proud, his eyes full of righteous anger, his jaw set in a grim clench. But the prophet knew the pain was there. It was deep beneath the surface, knotted up within him like the stone, a lump of anger and hatred that would do nothing but cripple the man's connection to the Most High. And so Yochanan nodded vigorously, his thin lips set in a determined line.

"I knew you would come. I have seen your arrival in a vision. It came to me only just nights ago." He placed a hand upon the man's shoulder, gazing at him with intense, solemn eyes, and held up a finger. "I teach that penance is the way to eternal life, but I have seen that you will usher in a new era, with revelations that have not yet been given to me. What I cleanse with water, you will cleanse with fire, a true spirit of holy fire – and this will make you even greater than I!"

Startled by this disclosure, Yehoshua ben Yusuf stared for a moment, and then looked stricken.

"But how can this be, master? I once thought myself blessed, but now all that I know has been taken from me."

"No, my brother. It has yet to be given to you!"

"How do you call me brother, master? I am only a man. I am not worthy!"

"You are indeed worthy. The Most High has told me himself."

Yehoshua's large black eyes widened.

"How can that be? All whom I have trusted have proven … unfaithful. Sinful. Liars. I … I do not even know who I am anymore."

He inclined his head, vulnerable as a boy.

"Then let me tell you, brother." Yochanan took the man by both shoulders. "You are indeed a Son of Man, but you are also a Son of God. So are we all. Now come, young one. Let us now consecrate you now to the Most High, for you are indeed blessed, and through you, he will change the world!"

On the east bank of the river, the weary traveler followed Yochanan into the water until they stood waist deep in the murky current. Yochanan lifted his hands to the sky.

"_Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam. _Blessed are you, LORD, our God, King of the universe…"

As he prayed, Yochanan felt the power of the heavens fill his soul. The voice of _Adonai Eloheinu_ filled his spirit and whispered secrets and revelations, as it always did. But today the voice said new things … truths yet to be realized even by the man before him.

The prophet dipped the man backward into the water, then lifted him. Yehoshua raised his hands to the sky, overcome by emotion, and shouted; his voice carried a depth of feeling that made Yochanan wonder, in a brief moment of earthly clarity, exactly what tragedy this man might be running from. As if on cue, the sun broke out from behind the clouds, bathing their section of the shore in a soft blush of golden warmth. Several small, startled white birds took flight out over the water. Yochanan threw his hands in the air.

"It is a sign! The Most High is well pleased in his son."

Yehoshua remained silent for a moment, the water dripping from his face and body.

"Thank you, master," he said quietly. "You have given me … a new life."

"Go, then, brother. Your new life awaits."


End file.
